


Onion Soup

by princeunderthemountain



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Conversation, Food, M/M, not really shippy but still cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeunderthemountain/pseuds/princeunderthemountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo's had it with the dwarves. They've pillaged the pantry, and commandeered the dining room. Bilbo finds solace outside, but there is still one who has yet to arrive...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Onion Soup

The burping contest had been the straw that broke Bilbo’s back.  
“These - Ugh! Bebother...confus- you know what? Do what you want. I’ll be back in the morning!” Bilbo exclaimed to the dwarves, who were not listening.  
Like locusts, they had pillaged the pantries, stripping the shelves of all but wrappings and wax casings, and a lone onion. The dining room had been taken as their stronghold, piles of food resembling watchtowers and a moat of spilled ale winding along the table and leaving a wet patch on the carpet. It was chaos, and Bilbo had had enough of it.  
He fetched one of his cardigans (He had so many, he had lost count.), and shoved it on angrily. Normally, he might take time to choose a nice one that went with his suspenders, but he chose the first one his fingers touched. This proved how angry he really was.  
He stomped to the front door, trying to make enough noise that the dwarves might realize what was wrong, and flung it open. The night air was balmy and fresh, and smelled nicer than the glut of food wafting through the house, even too much for a Hobbit to deal with. He pulled the front door closed behind him. He stood quietly for a few seconds, looking out over Hobbiton. Such a beautiful village...it was paradise. It was his paradise. Awash in deep blue of late evening, with pinprick stars in the cloudless sky. Sparks of ash swam in the air above chimneys like fireflies. Beautiful.  
Bilbo’s knees weakened and he crashed to the ground, his temple against the post of the porch. Unexplained tears began to well in his eyes. Perhaps it was just the shock of the dwarves arriving. Perhaps it was pipesmoke in his eyes. Perhaps he was just tired of people taking advantage of him.  
His eyes cast downward, he saw the tips of his boots first. Blocky iron caps on leather.  
He wiped the tears from his eyes and followed the shape up. Dark trousers. A handsome fur coat. A mane of black hair streaked with silver. A strong, striking face.  
A dwarf.  
Oh goody.  
“Might this be the house of Baggins?”  
Bilbo stood, trying to be imposing, still with tears in his eyes. Even though he was on the porch, which was a full three inches higher than the paving the dwarf stood on, he barely came up to the dwarf’s nose.  
“This is my house, and that is my name.”  
“Thorin Oakenshield, at your-”  
“Oh god no, please don’t do that. I’ve already got enough dwarves in service to me to take a kingdom.”  
The dwarf looked down, and then out to Hobbiton.  
“Very well. Thorin Oakenshield is my name. Pleased to meet you.”  
“Bilbo Baggins. You as well.” He replied, breathing deeply.  
“It does not seem that you are pleased to meet me. May I ask why you are crying?”  
On cue, song errupted within the house. The dwarves were singing a song about plates and crockery.  
“Just...overwhelmed. You’re with the party of dwarves, I assume? Please...make yourself at home.”  
Thorin stood pensive for a few moments, unsure of how to react.  
“Food can wait. Would you like to sit? Maybe...you would like to talk?”  
“Might as well. No one else seems to be listening to what I have to say tonight.”  
Bilbo sat back down on the porch, and Thorin next to him.  
“Are they treating you unwell? If a single one of them has spoken badly of you, or laid a finger on you, I swear I will-”  
“No. None of them have hurt me. Well, I guess they don’t realize they have.”  
“What do you mean, master hobbit?”  
“Well, all of the food’s gone. And the plumbing...I’m not even going to get into that. They’ve just completely destroyed my house, and they haven’t even realized it.”  
Bilbo slumped into Thorin’s sleeve. It was detailed with metal, but he didn’t care that it was cutting into his forehead.  
“They’re expressing gratitude. You have let them into your home. For us...that is no small kindness. We do not expect you to understand. We have had a long journey here, filled with much prejudice and hardship. Further back in our journey...I will not even make mention of the atrocities we faced. You take us into your home, and we will show immense gratitude.”  
“Yes, well, say that to the ruined pantry.”  
“They eat to show that the food is good. They use your house to show that it is warm and wonderful.”  
Bilbo was silent, thinking this over.  
“They should have asked first.”  
Thorin chuckled, wrapping an arm around Bilbo’s shoulder. Where his fingers touched his arm, a shiver emanated for reasons he couldn’t explain. He felt safe with the dwarf.  
“Well, might I ask if I could eat from your pantry? The cheering from inside seems to show that it is of the upmost quality.”  
“You’d be hard-pressed to find any food in there now. I think there’s still an onion in there.”  
“Then onion soup it shall be.”

And so it was.


End file.
